Jaunt
by CSI Clue
Summary: A Doctor WhoHouse Crossover in 11 drabbles. Seventh Doctor!


(a crossover story in 11 drabbles)

**Jaunt**

Cuddy looked at him across her desk, and her smile drooped a little. "I can't. God, you have no idea how much I want to—but I can't. I have a hospital to run now; it's not possible to just drop everything and go."

The little dark-eyed man leaned forward, resting his chin on the red handle of his umbrella. "Even if I begged?" he asked in the very tone she remembered luring her away the first time. Cuddy bit her lips, struggling with temptation and he kept very still, smiling, waiting to see what she decided.

"You win, Doctor."

OOO

House looked up through the glass walls to see Cuddy striding down the hall beside a dapper little man in a garish vest. It bothered him—not the vest—but the look on her face. Happy, then guilty, then carefree. All the ways she shouldn't look, especially around another man. He lumbered to the door, but too late; they passed by chatting softly, ignoring him.

" . . . Back before you know it," came the soft Scottish burr. "Like last time."

"Doctor, last time you left me in Newark with ten gold bullion and a stuffed alligator."

OOO

House frowned.

He watched them turn a corner and held back, not wanting Cuddy to spot him. This was one of the Housekeeping corridors, not much used. House listened to the footsteps, then counted to ten and peeked around.

Bizarre—he didn't remember anyone needing a portapotty. A second glance changed that. Too rich a blue, too big, too much like a broom closet. He watched the trim little man politely usher Cuddy inside then follow her. House's eyebrows went up. Right. The two of them in a broom closet—weird, and from his point of view, NOT permissible.

House lumbered forward.

OOO

"Open up, Cuddy, I know you're in there!" he called, rapping on the door with the handle of his cane. An odd vibration carried through the walking stick, and House eyed the big blue box suspiciously. Just as suddenly, the door swung open, and the dapper man looked out at House, his dark eyes sizing him up in a quick slightly mistrustful glance. House tried to look over his shoulder, but the other man held the door to block the view.

"Ah, YOU must be House. Lisa—" he called forlornly over his shoulder. "It seems your baggage followed us."

OOO

"You're not freaking out about this."

"Of course not. Hallucinations don't freak me out, per se. I just wish I'd get to the part where you're in a gold chain mail bikini," House retorted. He expected an eye roll or exasperated sigh from Cuddy and was startled at her guilty expression. The other man smiled nostalgically.

"She looked magnificent. Boris Vallejo would have been proud,"

"Please! Metal plates give NO chest support; I won't even go into chafing!" Cuddy muttered grimly. "Besides, I could never keep up with all that waxing."

House gave a little whimper, "God, pretty please?"

"No."

OOO

Pink planets, vast expanses of inky black space, armies of tentacled aliens, robots. House found out that Cuddy swung a mean broadsword, spoke Furling and kept the key to the Tardis in some pretty interesting places. She still nagged the hell out of him, but somehow bickering while dismantling death rays or smacking flying rats with his cane made life much more interesting. The Doctor was a pain in the ass with his superior attitude, which unfortunately was backed up by his superior knowledge.

But he had a little room full of medical wonders, and some of THOSE pills—Whoa.

OOO

House shook his head, feeling warm and happy. Apparently even Timelords liked to get their drink on too once in a while, and kept a very nice private stock to boot. He'd never had liquor that glowed in the dark, or that cursed him as he drank it, but life was short.

Hanging around with the Doctor insured that pretty much.

The Doctor had tipped back nearly fifteen shots of something tangerine-colored and smoking; House blearily reached for the bottle, but the Timelord shook his head and smiled mysteriously. "Wouldn't advise it, House—this gargle would definitely infarction you up."

OOO

Cuddy looked smug, and the Doctor inscrutable; House glanced again at the piled loot on the table and couldn't quite fight the rise of avarice within him. It didn't help that Cuddy was dressed in low-cut black leather. House called.

Pair of aces to Cuddy; no surprise there. The Doctor held a straight to the seven. House laid down the Jacks over sixes and raked in the pot, feeling smug. Cuddy sighed. Doctor cocked an ear, listening to the far away shuffle of thousands of Undead feet. He shook his head. "Intergalactic zombies—don't you just hate waiting them out?"

OOO

A thump, a bump, a landing. The Doctor was the first one out, looking around and blinking, his expression by turns solemn and sweet. House limped out, scowling. His cane had zombie teeth marks on it now, and a solid silver handle; all the better to keep vampires at bay. Old world medicine. Cuddy came last, shaking her hair and smoothing down her business suit. It smelt of mothballs now, and her deep tan didn't quite go with it.

House turned to the Doctor. "It's been . . . "

"Unduly dangerous?" The Doctor filled in, dryly.

--A great hallucination."

OOO

"Still not real. Never happened."

"A shared delusion, House? A folie aux deux?" Cuddy snorted. House swung up short and glared at her.

"More like a ménage a trois. And the guy's waaaay too old for you. And too short. And too impulsive."

"AND short-tempered and convinced he's right all the time, and bound by his own moral code woe be to anyone unable to deal with that?" she sweetly demanded. "Gee, I don't know anyone else around here remotely like that." She checked her watch. "We have clinic in an hour."

"Just like that—normal again?"

"Just like that."

OOO

Wilson looked at the man slumped asleep in the office chair and fought and urge to yell. Nobody could be as sluggish as House. The whole damned universe was passing him by and he'd sleep though it—miracles happening, battles being won and lost, and Greg House was letting it all slip by him, never taking part in the grand mysteries of time and space, preferring to snore away here in his little office.

"Leave him be—he had an interesting lunch hour," Cuddy called from the doorway. Wilson turned, catching her eye.

"Yeah?"

"A . . . rough house call," Cuddy smirked.

END


End file.
